#AmericanWriters
779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—
785 They have a little Odor—that to m… Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—
I cannot live with You— It would be Life— And Life is over there— Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to—
498 I envy Seas, whereon He rides— I envy Spokes of Wheels Of Chariots, that Him convey— I envy Crooked Hills
A little Snow was here and there Disseminated in her Hair - Since she and I had met and playe… Decade had gathered to Decade - But Time had added not obtained
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
322 There came a Day at Summer’s full… Entirely for me— I thought that such were for the… Where Resurrections—be—
133 As Children bid the Guest “Good… And then reluctant turn— My flowers raise their pretty lips… Then put their nightgowns on.
To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn’t hurt— It’s only fainter—by degrees— And then—it’s out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
666 Ah, Teneriffe! Retreating Mountain! Purples of Ages—pause for you— Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regim…
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!